


Ghostly

by questionably_fortunate_bamboo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established R plus L equals J, F/M, Ghost!Robb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 02:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11244729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionably_fortunate_bamboo/pseuds/questionably_fortunate_bamboo
Summary: Robb comes back as a ghost to give Sansa some much needed advice.(or: I really love the idea of ghost!Robb and here's a little go at it)





	Ghostly

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, hello! So, I haven't been posting as much lately because I'm having trouble with my back (last year I had surgery and I'm still feeling a few effects from that). I will be okay in time, but my pain meds happen to make me spacey as hell, so writing is a bit of a challenge. If there are any glaring errors in this, please ignore them, cause I'll probably be combing through when I don't feel all weird.  
> Enjoy this, because I had fun writing it! Not very long, I'm afraid, but I might take this idea and run with it.

“I know you’re there.”

Under the great weirwood tree, Sansa crosses her arms, shielding herself from an icy gust of wind. The pale, almost see-through image of her brother is barely visible through the snow. His auburn curls are unmoved by the weather, and his smile seems warm enough to melt winter.

He had made several appearances before, always when Sansa was alone. That way was easier. The first time she had seen him - sitting on her armchair by the hearth in her room - she had broken down in tears. Useless apologies spilled from her tongue as she cried into his arms. Of course, he wasn’t _really_ holding her, not truly. He was truly a ghost, and the feeling of his hands stroking her hair was just her imagination.

“Am I bothering you?” he asks.

“Are you Littlefinger?" 

“No.”

“Then you’re not.” Her eyes are still bloodshot and her back still aches. A deep, biting fear has set into her bones. Sansa has spent countless nights wondering and worrying about whatever game she’s been pulled into.

“Jon’s looking for you. He just arrived from Dragonstone. I saw him ride through the gates.,” says Robb. He sits down next to her. She wishes she could feel warmth coming from him, but he’s made of thin air and nothing more.

“He left me. I want to hate him for that,” she whispers, “but I never could. Somehow, that’s worse.”

“I know,” Robb says, even though she’s sure he doesn’t know anything about how she feels. He loved a girl, so he married her. It will never be that easy for Sansa. She’s not a king and she’s not free to love whom she choses. And still, her heart has already chosen.

Sansa has counted the minutes since Jon left. She’s gone to his room and slept in his bed. The nightmares only faded slightly, and she left teardrops on his pillow when she left in the morning. She’s stood on the ramparts through grueling, cold nights - a watcher on the walls. Bran and Arya have demanded that she eat more, sleep more, and worry less, but Sansa knows the horrible truth. No one leaves Winterfell and comes back whole.

“Gods, Sansa, please just let it happen,” says Robb, imploring her with his pale eyes. “You don’t deserve to suffer like this. Just love him. You both have a right to some happiness in this world.”

She rises to her feet and Robb follows like a shadow. _They all deserved more._

“It’s not as easy as that,” she says, even though he’s completely right.

“Sometimes it is. Sometimes you just have to listen to your heart and damn the consequences.”

“How many people died because you did that?” she hisses. He only smiles sadly.

“I wasn’t meant to win my war. Maybe you are,” he replies. Sansa regrets speaking to him in anger. With a heavy sigh, she wraps her cloak tightly over her shoulders.

“ _Sansa? Sansa, where are you?”_ Fast footsteps approach over the dull roar of the storm.

“I have to leave,” says Robb.

“Will I see you again?” She always asks this when he announces his departure. He smiles and kisses her forehead. Sansa imagines that it feels soft.

“You will.” With that, he is gone. She takes a deep breath, as if to inhale any trace of his presence and savor it in her lungs.

“Sansa, there you are.” Jon comes into view, his cloak billowing behind him. His face bears a weary smile. Sansa does her best to keep her heart inside her chest.

“Welcome back, your-”

He kisses her then, without waiting to hear the rest of that sentence (and it’s fine, because she would’ve made up some silly string of words that didn’t mean anything to either of them). His lips are dry and she tries to be gentle so as not to draw blood. His gloved hands tangle in her hair as if to keep her anchored in their small but beautiful world.

Jon tastes like dirt and a million other things, but most of all, he tastes _good._ That’s all she needs.

Sansa doesn’t see Robb for a long time, but he keeps his word. The war ends, the dawn comes, and Winterfell breathes again. Their first son is named Benjen, for his wise face and adventurous spirit, and their first daughter is named Lyanna for her dark hair and eyes as blue as winter roses. Their second son is born on the last day of winter, and has summery red hair. Jon whispers _Robb_ when the child is placed in his arms for the first time, and Sansa repeats it like an echo in a cave.

They’re at peace. She hopes that her brother is too.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it! Stay tuned for more oneshots coming!


End file.
